Pull the Other One (it's got bells on)
by busaikosensei
Summary: Harry's decision not to give Kreacher the fake Locket comes back to bite him in the ass. A mix of that bad decision, plus alcohol plus a bit of dark magic whisks Harry away on an adventure he's already regretting, and it hasn't even started yet. Kreacher's gonna die for this.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This fic has been sitting on my hard drive for months now. I initially started it when a small scene for a potential fic jumped into my head, and I just _had_ to write it down. Then I started writing more, and then I had maybe two chapters, and then I realized I didn't even a semblance of a plot outline and gave up. But I'm pretty content with what I've written so far, and so I'm going to post what I have in hopes my muse will throw some ideas at me. This probably won't be continued, but if you happen to read it and enjoy it, please let me know! I'm open to ideas and inspiration.

Also, I'm allergic to research of any kind, so this fic in no way follows canon. Tentatively, this is placed sometime before the LoTR books but after the Hobbit. I'm ignoring the HP Epilogue, but feel free to imagine this is set after book seven. Yeah. This fic is kind of the _worst._

 **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and LoTR belong to their respective authors, and I'm just playing around in their sandbox. Also, this is unbeta'd, so please be kind and don't be afraid to point out any mistakes.

* * *

 **Pull the Other One (it's got bells on)**

 **Chapter One**

Once upon a time, there was a meadow.

This meadow housed many types of creatures, from insects to rodents to songbirds of every color and size. The grass was green and dotted with multi-colored patches of flowers. A trickling stream added quiet acoustics to the otherwise silent glade, and on that particular day, the sky was blue and the sun was shining.

This meadow was beautiful. It was also quiet, peaceful, and completely untouched by human hands.

On one particular day, a voice broke through the quiet sounds of nature to say:

"Ugh."

The denizens of the untouched meadow had no experience with voices of any kind, and as such, the sound managed only to startle a solitary finch into flight.

The stream bubbled, a fish jumped, and the sounds of wildlife prevailed for the space of five minutes.

Then:

"No really, that's just... Ugh. _Bugger_. The worst."

A chipmunk, cheeks stuffed full, froze a foot from a dark, crumpled lump; determining no immediate danger in its future, it chittered before swiftly moving on.

A minute later, the lump unfolded enough to seem vaguely humanoid, before saying:

"Oh fu- _blurghfguuggh_."

This singularity unpleasant sound garnered a bit more attention. A few flightless creatures of the meadow poked their heads out from behind trees, bushes, burrows and trunks, vaguely curious.

As a grey hare fearlessly hopped a few steps closer to investigate, Harry Potter rolled carefully onto his side and croaked: "Ugh. Bloody hangovers. The _worst_."

* * *

 _ **Some Indeterminate Time Ago:**_

 _Pour_ , drink. _Pour_ , drink.

 _Number... Number three? Four? No, maybe it was six... So hard to keep track._

Harry thought about that for a moment longer before shrugging and downing the next shot. A half-empty bottle of fire-whiskey sat on a side table, in perfect reach of Harry's outstretched hand. The table itself was missing a leg, and it was so moldy the thing had practically turned green, but—well. It served its purpose well enough.

The alcohol burned going down, and after coughing a bit, he leaned contentedly back into the moth-eaten cushions of the Massive canopy bed in Sirius's room.

There was nothing better than throwing back a couple shots of the good stuff on your one-and-only be-getting day.

He let his eyes drift across the room; he'd been in this room for less than an hour now, and already he felt like fleeing. He hadn't been here since... When was it? Sixth year? Fifth? Oh no, that's right, the _Locket_.

Now that was a mess.

The memory pierced the pleasant fog he'd fallen into, and with a grimace, Harry shook it away and reached out, clumsily pouring another shot.

(If the black family matriarch knew he was shooting her precious alcohol back like water, she'd probably die all over again, the cunt)

After all this time, here he is, in the house of his dead godfather, hiding like a coward from his many fans, with a house-elf who hated him and no one to celebrate his 17th birthday with. Wonderful. Just _wonderful_.

 _If this is what I get for killing Voldemort, I don't know why I bothered,_ he thought darkly.

Eight months had passed since he successfully ended Voldemort's reign of tyranny, and things were going just _wonderfully_.

Like most things 'wonderful', the days following the Final Battle brought with them a few _surprises_. Or, well, _not_ -surprises, really.

Being lauded as the hero of the Wizarding world sucked way more than Harry had expected it to. That being said, as he grew up experiencing much of the same awe and hero-worship, it didn't come as a surprise, so it wasn't that unbearable—still unpleasant, sure, but bearable.

Ending up stuck as a paper-pusher in the Auror's Department was another unpleasant, but bearable, not-surprise.

After the battle, Harry was accepted as an Auror and was able to enjoy his new job for an entire _week_ before things went south. With his popularity rankings over-the-top and his face plastered on every Wizarding newspaper in the country, one would think that that would make him a hot commodity in the Ministry; this, unfortunately, was not the case.

When he was reassigned, his friends were surprised. As an actual Auror, Harry was well aware how inconvenient it could be to be going undercover, only to have your cover blown within a matter of minutes. So when the order came for his transfer, he was disappointed, yes—disappointed, but not _surprised_.

Thus Harry ended up with the title _'Departmental Overseer of the Internal Affairs Division'_ and all the mountains of paper-work that came with it.

It was exactly as boring as it sounded.

After those not-surprises, what came as a _real_ surprise was the subtle shift in his relationship with his two closest friends.

While the final battle and all the moments leading up to it brought a distinct closeness among the three of them, in days following the death of the Dark Lord, they all inevitably got caught up in their respective jobs and responsibilities. Days turned to weeks, and 'I'll see you laters' turned to, 'maybe next times' which soon turned to, 'I'll have to take a rain check'.

Before they knew it, the bonds tying them together began to unwind and fade; and one day, Harry opened his eyes to discover that he was (once again) adrift, and alone.

Harry moodily flicked at a stray droplet on the shot glass, and pushed those thoughts into the past where they belonged. Still, he couldn't help but think of his friends, just for a moment: Hermione, with her brilliance and quick wit; Ron, with his stalwart support and invaluable sense of humour.

 _Nearly a year now,_ he thought wistfully. _I wonder what they're up to..._

( _I wonder if they even remember_ )

He inhaled deeply, waved a hand at invisible feelings of resentment. He was as much to blame as they were; pointing fingers would do him no good.

At least Hermione had tried, in the beginning. He couldn't say the same for himself.

Harry flipped his legs over the side of the bed and stood abruptly (and needed a moment to stop the room from spinning). _Bugger this_. It was his birthday; it wouldn't do to go thinking about stuff that would make this day even _more_ depressing than it already was.

Swiping a hand at the near-empty bottle, he ignored the glass and took a swig. This house was dark and dank and bloody depressing; what he needed was human company and alcohol that _wasn't_ accompanied by ominous wall-hangings.

Harry nodded to himself, decided.

A flick of his wand later, his clothes were passably muggle-like, and he was ready to go. He turned in the direction of the door, ready to be rid of his filthy surroundings, only to stumble. He slapped a hand against a grimy cabinet and thought, _woah_.

Had he really drunk that much?

Never mind. Drunk never stopped a person from getting more drunk, or being happy.

There was this cute bar down the road a few blocks; it wasn't magical in the slightest, which would be the perfect balm for Harry's overactive paranoia, and was close enough that he wouldn't have to risk splinching himself _apparating_ back drunk.

That settled, Harry weaved his way carefully out of the room and down the stairs.

He made it to the bottom with only a few close calls, and while he was busy trying (and failing) to pat himself on the back for a walk well done, Kreacher popped into existence a few feet to his right, nearly giving him a heart-attack.

"Kreacher," he slurred, slapping a hand dramatically on his chest, "You scaaaared thu' life outta' me."

 _Hmmmm?_ he thought absently, _slurring? What tosser's slurring like that, now?_

"Master," the elf spit out the name like a curse. Harry grimaced. Ever since he'd taken the Locket from Kreacher and refused to give it back, the damn elf had been a bloody pain.

"Yeah, thas' me. Whaddaya want, eh?"

"It's Master's birthday," the creature sniped, before muttering under his breath, "Nasty half-blood, daring to celebrate the day of its birth."

Harry ignored this because he was used to it, and also, the ground was spinning. Just a bit.

"Well yesh' Kreacher, I do know it's my birthday, seeing as it's mine, yeah?" he drawled. Hmmm, maybe no going out just yet; he should probably take a nap first.

Yes, a nap sounded wonderful.

"Well, Master," Kreacher began, a nasty smile appearing on his face.

This was Harry's first clue. Kreacher + smiling never ended well for anyone involved. (They don't talk about the Big Damn Balls incident for good reason)

Sadly Harry, by this point, was much too preoccupied with the swirling patterns in the wallpaper to notice.

"Kreacher is thinking Master needs a special birthday present," the elf continued. He was looking all too gleeful, and he had his hands behind his back.

This was Harry's second, very obvious clue. Again, he missed it; his stomach was starting to revolt. Alcohol without prior eating was never a good thing, especially for Harry, who hadn't stopped to consider that a practically virgin-drinker should not pop his cherry with hard liquor.

"Look, Kreeeecher," Harry moaned. The room was spinning very badly now, and he was a few seconds away from up-chucking all over the faded carpet. "Can' thiz wait? Imma-I gotta-m'gotta go. Down. No, up. To... to the john, yeah, gotta go-"

While Harry was occupied trying not to redecorate the hallway, Kreacher pulled something out from behind his back.

 _A book,_ Harry thought, rather stupidly. _What's he got a book for-_

Harry, right around this time, finally clued in that something was wrong.

The next three seconds passed in slow motion:

 _His hand snapped to his wand, hard-earned instincts not failing him even now-_

-but he was too late, Kreacher had shoved the book in front of him with both hands, was shouting incoherently about 'his precious Master Regulus', was shouting something in a language Harry's ears couldn't even comprehend, and then-

 _-and then-_

-everything went white. _And then it went black_.

* * *

 _ **Present**_

Awareness came at a slow crawl.

Even as Harry blinked at a small boulder inches from his eyes, his mind took its sweet time registering its new environment.

Uncomfortable surface. Soft-ish green stuff under his face. Random animal sounds.

… _.What?_

It took a minute more, but the memories began to dance at the forefront of his mind, giving Harry a wonderful glimpse of his less-than-intelligent life choices. He groaned, feeling his head throb dreadfully.

 _When I get my hands on Kreacher,_ his first thought began.

This was about the moment his stomach rebelled, and every drop of alcohol he'd consumed did its best to crawl right back out his throat.

"Oooooh, gross gross gross," Harry groaned when he was finished, wishing for water.

Kreacher. That bloody bellend.

What was his problem, anyway? Harry'd been a great Master to the pathetic creature. Well. Pretty great. The The Locket thing was unfortunate, but some things couldn't be helped, like the Locket being a _Horcrux_ , for example.

 _Maybe I could have given him the fake Locket,_ came the sudden thought, too late to be of any use.

 _Oh well._

But anyway, he'd been a wonderful master, which was going to change as soon as he got his freaking hands around the bastard's neck.

The little shit was dead. _So_ dead.

 _But before that_ , Harry thought as his stomach gave a queasy roll, _gotta figure out where the fuck this is._

Getting to his feet was hard; staying on his feet was harder.

The ground shifted and rumbled under his feet, and he had to breathe slowly and carefully as he slowly took stock of his surroundings.

It was very... Green. That ruled out the backyard of Number 12, but still left open the possibility of this being a Death Eater's hideout, and just about anywhere else in the world.

He took a cautious look around. Trees, grass, flowers, movement-a field mouse, which Harry narrowly avoided killing-more trees, more grass, more wildlife.

And no sign of anything else within a two-hundred meter radius.

His head was exploding. Harry flopped down on the ground and rested said head in his hands.

What the hell was this shit, now? Was Kreacher's intention to kill him via too much exposure to nature and, _ugh_ , sunlight?

He didn't recognize anything-which wasn't really a surprise, because grass looked the same no matter where you went-and there didn't appear to be any sign of human activity. He could be on the other side of the world for all he knew.

He tried to come up with a plan for a few seconds, but one, he was having a hard time concentrating and, two, the chirping was too much, it was just, too much.

Moaning pathetically, Harry smashed both hands against his eyes and collapsed on his back.

Fuck this noise. It was his birthday (was it still?), he was tired, he was hungover, Kreacher was an asshole, and he just didn't _care_ any more.

Lying down felt very, very nice. The world even stopped spinning for a while. Surely it wasn't going to become any less of an annoyingly idyllic and disgustingly beautiful day if he slept through a few hours of it.

Dropping his hands and rolling to his side, Harry did just that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So while I was editing this chapter for posting, I noticed some very weird paragraphs I must have written at some point while very drunk. It took awhile to fix and I'm still not happy with this chapter, but... eh. Feel free to point out anything weird, I'm open to constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my two left feet

* * *

 **Pull the Other One (it's got bells on)**

 **Chapter Two**

It was cooler when he awoke next. He had rolled under a tree at some point in his sleep, and the shade was quite pleasing.

Harry yawned, stretched, and was happy to find he felt much better.

His head was still throbbing, naturally, and his mouth tasted like something had died in it, but a bit of water would fix that up right quick.

A place like this, overgrown and wild and all untouched nature - there was bound to be drinkable water around _somewhere_.

So for a bit, he wandered aimlessly, still half-asleep; now that he was a bit less hungover, he could actually appreciate how pretty it was.

This little patch of nature he got landed in was very lovely: beautiful and fierce in a way he'd only ever seen in the Forbidden Forest – only this forest was a lot less, well, forbidding.

Most would think 'fierce' to be an odd word choice; but to Harry, a magic user, the choice was obvious.

He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

It was impossible to miss the strong zest for life echoing out of every crevice, every overgrown shrub, every beast of ground and air. Harry could feel the cohesive hum of natural energy vibrating within him with every breath. The leylines here were thick and heavy with power, and when he stretched out his senses, he could feel a welcoming thrum in reaction to his own power.

Magic had many forms, but nature was one of its greatest.

(He would forever be thankful for his friendship with Firenze: the Centaur had taught him many things during his short tenure as Divination professor, but what had saved Harry from accidentally killing himself were his lessons on leylines.

"The power in leylines," Firenze lectured fiercely one day, after Harry was foolish enough to question whether _he_ could use that power somehow, "Is not something made to be harnessed by mortal hands; it is not a _beast of burden_ , to be muzzled and beaten into submission. Leylines are magic in their purest form: like lightning, should you lack the proper conduit, the power will burn you from the inside out. Do not let yourself fall into temptation; many great men have, to their folly."

Appropriately chastised, Harry solemnly gave his promise and swiftly buried away any thoughts of _the power he knows not._ )

Eyes still closed, Harry chose a thin, wiggly sort of leyline that headed in the direction of what he vaguely thought to be East, and let his feet take him down the wandering path of golden light. While accessing the power in that light was beyond him, there was nothing stopping him taking advantage of a pre-made path.

Of course, as he wasn't using his _eyes_ so much as his _sight_ to see the path, there was a limit to how long he could continue before his eyes started to burn and the path started to take on a wavy, blurry sort of consistency.

Blinking rapidly, Harry regretfully let go of his _sight_ and focused on his _eyes,_ to find -

\- trees.

He looked around, blinking some more just to be sure he wasn't imagining things. Oh, yes, those were, were trees. Lots of trees. In fact, there were so many trees, the game trail he had been following prior to the leyline had all but disappeared.

He was about to panic, when he realized-

-he didn't actually have a pressing need to go anywhere. Other than the water issue, and the fact he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, no one would be looking for him for a few days, at the least.

(He ignored the possibility they might not be looking at all)

He had plenty of time to find his way back and kill Kreacher at his leisure. He had his wand and he had his wits; when had he ever needed anything else?

And besides, he couldn't remember the last time he'd breathed air this sweet and fresh. It was night and day in comparison to the air in London, and Harry didn't see any reason not to take advantage of it.

So he walked. And walked. And walked some more. And failed to see anything other than trees, trees, a squirrel, some purple mushrooms, and more trees.

It took his wand poking awkwardly against his right butt-cheek to remind Harry that, hey, he was _wizard_ yeah?

He was also an idiot, but thankfully one who now knew what to do.

 _So, two options_ , he thought, taking a welcome break under the shade of a giant oak.

Option one: he didn't have his broom, but there was nothing stopping him from climbing one of those trees – well, the height was a bit daunting, but he could probably manage it – and being able to see the end to this never-ending gathering of trees. And It would hopefully help him find a way out and into civilization.

Second option: he could use the point me spell and try to find water, the lack of which was becoming very painful. Finding civilization might be hard, as he doubted the spell would work if he didn't know where he was, but where there was water there were probably people. Ergo, two owls with one knut.

(Harry briefly considered the _augmenti_ spell, but as he had no idea what source of water his magic would be drawing it from, it was too big a risk)

Immediate satisfaction vs. the possibility of continuous satisfaction. Decisions, decisions.

In the end, the pounding headache and his achy limbs convinced him that the _Point Me_ spell was the much better choice.

Decided, Harry cleared his throat and intoned dramatically: " _Point Me_ : Water."

(It was his first spell in this unknown place, he couldn't help playing around a bit.)

His wand swivelled in his open palm, and- _wait a second_.

Did his voice just-

Harry cancelled the spell, and tried again. " _Point Me_ : Water!"

There it was again. His voice sounded... It sounded..

Dropping his wand in shock, he reached up with one shaking hand to touch his face. He felt around his cheeks, his jaw, down one shoulder, down his left hip, further down to cup his-

" _Merlin's bloody ballsack_!" Harry bellowed, in a high, young-sounding voice. "My bleeding knob's _shrunk_!"

* * *

Suffice it say, after a few frantic minutes of tugging and stretching and jumping about frantically, Harry was _very_ relieved to discover that the family jewels weren't the only thing to have shrunk.

It appeared, in fact, that his entire body had shrunk, and by quite a few years, too. Harry conjured a mirror and took a good look at his face. Yep, somewhere between eleven and twelve. He was relieved to see that the eye-correcting (and not at _all_ illegal, _really_ ) ritual he'd stumbled across last year was still showing its effects, so no need for those clunky glasses. It was still quite strange to see his body so small again, especially in the smaller version of the dark red robes he had been wearing prior to this shrinking business.

Harry vanished the mirror, and sat down to think.

This had to be Kreacher's fault.

Harry was quite puzzled. What could the little tosser possibly have hoped to accomplish? Had Kreacher assumed that Harry being younger would make him any weaker, any less dangerous?

 _As if_.

By this young body's age, Harry had already suffered through one attempt on his life—two, if he was twelve instead of eleven. And just because he'd dropped a foot in height didn't mean any of the spells rattling around in his head had been lost. Kreacher was obviously _completely_ off his rocker.

After a moment of consideration, Harry shrugged and thought carelessly, _but who cares?_

Sure, he was bothered by the change; anyone would be. But all he had to do was find his way home (at his leisure) and kill Kreacher (at his leisure), and everything would be back to normal.

At least this explained why his equilibrium was so off.

 _So it wasn't only the drinking!_ Harry thought, feeling pointlessly vindicated.

He tugged off his shoes and wiggled his toes. So tiny! He placed his hands in front of him and wiggled his fingers too, marveling at how small they'd become. This could be fun, if he worked it right.

If he was small, he wouldn't even have to rely on magic to get what he needed. Harry didn't know what sort of people he'd run into, but being a harmless looking kid was always helpful.

Harry could feel nostalgia for his small limbs beginning to pull at memories best left forgotten, so he hurriedly put his shoes back on and stood.

Now knowing what to expect, he placed his wand flat on his palm and cast the spell with confidence: " _Point-Me_ : Water."

The wand obediently spun in his hand and swiveled to point-

-right back the way he'd come.

 _Naturally_.

Scowling, Harry turned sharply on his heel and stomped back the way he came.

* * *

By the time he reached the stream, his throat was drier than a desert.

Silently praying his magic would take care of any parasites or other gross shit in the water, he scooped a handful and gulped it down.

 _Ah, sweet relief._

Harry was really not sure how he'd managed to miss the trickling stream, considering it was a mere ten or so yards from where he'd come to. He blamed it on the hangover, and drank some more.

When he was finally sated, he plopped himself down on the grass and just took a moment to bask.

He was still a bit pissed, sure. Being small was weird, even if he'd gotten over it fast, and getting tossed out here was great and everything, but not having the choice sucked a lot. A lot of that anger would be sated once he ended Kreacher, however, and this green country he'd been tossed unceremoniously into was turning out to be pretty great.

No old, depressing house with screaming bitch; no psychotic fans and press and endless letters; no responsibilities, no _people_.

No... people. Not even Kreacher. No one at all.

 _The no people thing is quite lovely,_ Harry thought. It _was_ lovely. He'd been living a pretty secluded life outside of work for a while now, and while it had taken some getting used to, he was really quite happy about it. That hollow feeling in his chest was simply a by-product of not eating enough, and the fact that he'd been feeling it for well on eight months now had nothing to do with anything.

Really.

In fact, being alone was pretty freaking awesome. Maybe he should become a true hermit, spend the rest of his life isolated from the hum and drum of Magic Society and all the issues it brought, isolated from people _altogether._

What a pleasing idea (really).

But thoughts of potential hermet-hood would have to wait. His friends _would_ come for him (they _would_ ), so he would just have to enjoy the solitude while it lasted.

So Harry brushed aside a feeling that felt like loneliness and maybe something else, and allowed his stomach to remind him why being isolated wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Foooooood," Harry crooned, out loud because, why not. He patted his stomach, packed his thoughts away in a nice, tight corner, and stood.

It was time to find civilization.

* * *

The spell did work. Eventually.

Harry did have to cycle through a few tries of ' _Point Me_ : Ministry of Magic' and other such variations, before hitting gold at, ' _Point Me_ : People'.

Not the most original or intelligent of phrases, but it worked, which is what counted.

His wand started out pointing south-east, and was slowly but surely moving in the direction of south. The lack of hay-wire swiveling was a bit unnerving. If this were London, his wand would be going mad right about now.

 _So that rules out... wow, not that many places at all._ Harry tapped his chin absently, and concluded that the Highlands was a good enough guess with what he had to go on. Or New Zealand. Maybe he should try, " _Point Me:_ Sheep."

In any case, signs of life, few though they seemed to be, was better than being completely alone, if only for the possibility of shutting up his damn stomach. Magic was all great and well, until you landed yourself in a situation where, guess what, you needed the _one thing_ magic couldn't actually provide.

He really wasn't desperate enough to go slaughtering innocent animals, or go scrounging around for dubious-but-possibly-edible plant life. The last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of his time in this place having a re-run of his Horcrux hunting days.

Harry felt a sharp, unexpected twinge at the reminder of those days and the friends that were with him.

 _...Yeah, no thanks._

Now was not the time for a trip down memory lane. In fact, he was perfectly happy not to take that trip again, ever.

Harry instead concentrated on the path he was traversing through the slowly thinning woods.

It was definitely a game trail, or at least had been, at the start. As he walked, however, the trail started to look a bit more trodden, in a flattened-by-human-feet sort of way. It was very heartening, and Harry weaved his way happily through another couple hundred feet of foliage (in a skip, which he'll never admit to anyone) before the forest abruptly gave way to an open clearing, and-

Harry threw both arms up in the air and shouted shamelessly: "Yeeeessss! FREEEEDOM!"

There was a clearly man-made/trodden path a couple hundred feet in front of him, large enough to fit a decent-sized vehicle. It went in a wavy sort of line as far as he could see in one direction, while it did an abrupt zig-zag and went down a slope in the other.

Success! Just a road, so far, but, success!

If he followed this path, he would find nourishment, Harry reassured himself. The headache and other such unfortunate hangover symptoms had returned with a vengeance due to all the walking, and the hunger was becoming a serious concern, but Harry was sure his good mood would tide him over long enough.

(Later, Harry would tell himself that he had an excuse: he was tired, he was hungry, he was hungover, and most importantly, he was terribly distracted by enticing thoughts of a hot meal and a place to rest.)

So happy doing excited little twirls and spins, Harry failed to notice his wand suddenly spinning to point straight at him; he also failed to notice the tall body suddenly within his personal space, until he came out of a spin and ran right into it.

 _Um, what?_

Harry suffered through a bit of confused flailing before two strong arms grasped his own and stopped his momentum.

He looked up, and saw-

" _Mae g'ovannen,_ " a melodic voice said. It sounded amused, almost indulgent.

Harry stared up into sharp, intelligent blue eyes in a strikingly beautiful face, and could only think, _say what?_

A dark eyebrow rose, and the man - was it a man? - said something in what was obviously another and even stranger language. It was all Harry could do to identify the strange words as a question, because _what_?

After a moment of blank silence, the stranger let go and stepped back, looking confused, and Harry belatedly noticed an _identical stranger!_ standing behind him. The other one was holding reigns attached to two horses in his hands, and _wow_ Harry was a dunce, how did he not notice the horses?

The strangers ( _no, creatures, maybe dryads?_ Harry thought, _they're gorgeous and've got pointy ears and whatnot, so maybe-_ ) exchanged a short, silent conversation before the other one handed over the reigns and stepped towards Harry.

The ma- _d_ _ryad_ then dropped to one knee in front of Harry.

Harry leaned back a bit, belatedly remembering to be cautious. From what he could recall of dryads (which wasn't much), they were known for their ethereal beauty, their asexuality, and their _very_ predatory natures (dryads would also explain the very real looking weapons and their frankly _odd_ clothing). If they deemed Harry a threat to their home, they wouldn't hesitate to strike him where he stood.

His wariness must have been obvious, because the creature's face softened, and it calmly raised both hands, palms outward, and spoke soothingly.

This didn't help Harry much, as it was _still in that damn language_.

The creature's brows tightened, but its tone didn't change as it continued to speak.

With a start, Harry realized what this must look like: here was a kid, obviously too young to be wandering around by himself (and a bit beat up from all that walking around and sleeping on the ground), and with no bags or obvious mode of transportation.

They probably thought he was lost (which he kind of was), and that he was harmless.

 _Well then_ , Harry thought, and let himself relax, let himself look vulnerable. This he could do. While his friends insisted he still couldn't lie worth shit, if these two were coming to their own conclusions, he wouldn't have to.

"I. Am. Lost," he said slowly, trying to look pathetic. "Very Lost. Want Food And Rest."

The dryad tilted its head, and gave him a politely confused look.

Harry tried again: "I am lost. Lost, as in, _don't know where I am_. Can. You. Help?"

...Nope, still looking confused. So much confusion all around, how delightful.

Frustrated at the lack of communication, Harry made a small mistake; a completely accidental, very stupid mistake.

He pulled out his wand, and cast a translation spell.

It wasn't that he hadn't been thinking, no—only, the thought that briefly fluttered through his mind went something like: 'Obviously magical creatures: ergo, Magic is a Go.'

In retrospect, he should have thought a bit harder.

One of the dryads gasped loudly as he completed the incantation. Spell completed, Harry looked up to see the two creatures gaping in shock, hands clasping around the hilts of their very-real looking sword and bow, respectively (they were definitely real weapons).

It took him a moment to put it together. When he did, Harry swore (loudly) and slid his wand (subtly, sort of) back into his pocket. Then he raised his hands (slowly, so slowly).

He could feel the spell working, so he smiled as innocently as he could and, with the new language shaping slowly in his mind, said:

"That... let's pretend that didn't happen, okay? No magic, no nothing, you saw nothing. I swear I come in peace?"

If anything, the two creatures – oh good Merlin, could he really have broken the Statue of Secrecy? - looked even more tense, and their eyes had hardened considerably.

 _So much for that_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning:** lots of swearing in this chapter. Well, in this fic really, but especially in this chapter. Please feel free to be offended by this on your own time and not in the review section, thank you.

 **A/N:** in case it's not super clear already, my Harry is a sarcastic, careless little shit with lots of emotions! and uncomfortable things he's ignoring, and he's altogether super-not-like-cannon. I like my characters hurting but totally unaware of the fact they're hurting at all, and I'll try to make this realistic and not to over done; but please be prepared for a Harry who probably won't act in any way how you expect him to.

The switch in pronouns is on purpose, in case that's confusing for anyone.

Geh, the more I edit for posting, the more I remember why I wasn't going to post this in the first place. Ugh. Happy 2017.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but a nasty cough.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

An awkward silence lasted for a too-long moment.

Harry stayed frozen, not daring to move, as both creatures glared at him fiercely.

He prayed they wouldn't get violent; he really hadn't been thinking, and the spell was obviously harmless, so maybe they'd just let this pass? The last thing he needed right now was a full-blown battle on an empty stomach.

Harry couldn't fight a flinch when one of them finally spoke.

"You are Istari?" it demanded.

"An Is-um, no, I don't think so?" Harry said unsteadily. _A what now?_

"You are Istari," it repeated firmly. "We would know your purpose for being in this place. Are you a spy, a servant of Melkor? If so, know that you will not be allowed to run rampant upon this peaceful plane. Come quietly, or we will take you by force."

They were both looking very tense, and quite dangerous.

 _This is bad_.

At a loss, Harry gave them the blankest look he could manage, and said:

"Yeah, no, m'not anyone's servant, never mind this-this _'Mel-cor'_ person, a'right? I'm just a wee bit lost, so sorry if I surprised you or whatever earlier, but I swear I'm not gonna go – _wreak havoc_ , or whatever."

Good heavens, what was happening to his vocabulary? He was starting to sound like a pre-pubescent _Malfoy_ , only thankfully much less annoying.

Neither of the two creatures looked convinced, sadly. Harry threw both arms up in the air in frustration.

"Fine, don' believe me then," his mouth said petulantly, his foot rising and falling in a stomp ( _what?_ ). "Call me a spy or whatnot, _see if I care_. Only thing I want right now's a good quart of water and some food, okay? Once I find that, I'll work on being a bit less lost and finding my way home, and then I'll be out of your _wonderfully_ feminine hair."

 _...Wait a minute, that was-why did I say that?_

Harry froze again, resisting the urge to slap a hand over his mouth. Surprisingly, neither of the two creatures reacted explosively. If anything they seemed to relax a bit, and the one by the horses actually lowered its bow and settled back with an amused look.

"Lost, are you?" the one in front of him mused. "I sense there is a very interesting story behind _this_. In any case, you shall be returning with us. Our Father will be very curious to hear how you happened upon this place, deep in the heart of Imladris and so far from any human settlements."

 _Oh, so definitely not muggles then_ , Harry thought, relieved, only to back up in alarm when the creature stood fluidly and reached out a hand.

"Come," it commanded. "We will take you back to our Lord and Father; he will judge whether or not you speak the truth. For your sake, I hope it is the truth."

The dryad was very tall, and very intimidating; even had Harry been at his usual height, he would have been dwarfed by the sheer overwhelming presence of these creatures.

"Uh, yeah, or not," Harry said cautiously, because, _that was not happening_.

He needed to get out of here before things got any worse. He began to cautiously move back, fingers going back to his wand.

"No look, see," he tried, when the dryad started to slowly follow his fumbling steps backwards, "I've got places to see and people to do, yeah, m'can't be just going off with any random strangers. So how about I just promise not to do anything stupid, and you lot let me pass, eh?"

This didn't get a reaction, other than a condescending raised eyebrow.

(Harry was beginning to hate that eyebrow)

He managed maybe five more steps in the direction of freedom before the world unexpectedly flipped on its axis.

Harry felt the breath go out of him, and found himself staring at an exquisitely crafted sword belt. His legs were pulled tight against the creature's shoulder, and he couldn't move an inch.

"Wha-oi! Hey, let me go!" he shouted indignantly. The blood was shifting to his head, and it wasn't helping him feel better about any of this.

The creature ignored him. It instead spoke to its companion in that musical language he'd first greeted Harry with. Harry grimaced; he'd forgotten about the other language. The translation spell only worked once on any given person, which meant he wouldn't be learning that language any time soon.

Language aside, however – this _bloody_ _POSITION_.

How mortifying. He was not putting up with this rubbish.

As the creature hefted him a little higher and turned to walk, Harry clenched his jaw and tried to reach for his wand. His attempts to lift his upper body were sadly unsuccessful; he was clumsy in this body – this small, weak body – he was tired (and still hungover, _bloody hell_ ), and the creature was holding him very tightly.

That failed, Harry tried summoning his wand instead: " _Accio_ wand!"

He felt it wriggling in his back pocket, but before he could feel too elated, the movement abruptly ceased as his wand was snatched away.

Twisting angrily and thumping at the back in front of his face, Harry began, "Oi, you twat, _you give that back_ -" but ended in a squeal as he gained only a sharp smack to his squirming backside for his trouble.

"None of that now," the creature chided gently. "Cease your wiggling, child, you will injure yourself."

 _(_ Okay, no. He was going to be firm and adult about this. There would be no kidnapping, and there would _definitely_ be no- _)_

"The fuck – how could – se- _SEXUAL HARASSMENT_!" Harry shrieked at the top of his lungs. He then proceeded to keep shrieking, to the tune of every possible insult he could think of.

 _Oh wait, no, that's not going to help anything, why can't I seem to shut up_ -

"'Dan, you had best ride with him," the creature holding Harry said grimly, "I fear I will be tempted to thrash him if this dreadful caterwauling continues."

"Goodness, 'Roh, you should be well accustomed to such a thing by now! _Eru_ knows our baby brother was never one to sit idly by when forced to do something against his will," 'Dan' teased. Harry, still shrieking, thought, _identifies as male? Same 'father', so possibility of relation?,_ and mentally jotted that down.

(Contrary to how it appeared, he wasn't _actually_ freaking out or anything; he was perfectly in control of his wits. He was just playing it up so they'd let their guard down and underestimate him. Yeah.)

"Well, Estel certainly knew better than to carry on so," 'Roh' grumbled. Harry felt himself hoisted off the creature's shoulder and dropped unceremoniously onto a horse, who whinnied at the unexpected weight.

For Harry, whose experience with riding began and ended with Buckbeak, found himself shocked and profoundly horrified by this change. He threw out an arm and grabbed fiercely onto his tormentor's tunic.

"-and you can go eat a _GIGANTIC BAG OF DICKS,_ alright, a GIGANTIC BAG OF-wait, what, no no no let me off!"

(A part of Harry, deep in the back of his mind, was perplexed; where was this crap coming from? Why did he keep feeling these swelling waves of aggression and irritation, plus the sudden inability to control his verbal diarrhoea?)

The creature – Roh – looked at him askance. "From the way you are behaving, one would think you had never ridden a horse before. Do cease carrying on so, _Suldal_ will not let you fall."

"Well gee, what a shock, maybe it's because I've _never ridden a horse before_." Harry clung even tighter and wished desperately for his wand, his broom, anything. This was all wrong; this was not, this wasn't the ' _people_ ' he'd been looking for, the _help_ he'd been looking for, curse that damn spell.

Harry wanted out, _right now_.

"Never ridden before?" the other one – Dan – asked doubtfully. "I am starting to believe him, Elrohir. His young age aside, I cannot picture one who is so terrible at lying and controlling his emotions being of any use as a spy. On top of that, he does not seem to be quite right in the head. Do you understand what he keeps shouting about?"

"Not right in the – _now look here_!" Harry shouted.

 _Fuck this, seriously just,_ fuck this.

"I have had a _terrible_ day. I've had the bloody hangover from hell for hours, I got tossed in the middle of the forest without a bleeding ' _by your leave_ ', I'm starving, I'm completely tuckered out, and on top of all that, you _freaking princesses came along_.

"I did _NOT_ ask to be mistaken for a spy, I did _NOT_ do anything to _deserve_ being mistaken as one, and for fuck's bloody sake, _I DID NOT ASK YOU_ to fucking manhandle me! If you lot don't get me off this damn animal and piss off within the next few seconds, I will _FUCK A BITCH_ , see if I don't!"

Harry panted, a bit shocked at himself. He hadn't – that wasn't – okay, something was _really_ off; he hadn't been this out of control since his fifteenth year, the Year of Perpetual Rage. Getting over his anger-management issues took all of his sixteenth year and quite a bit of his seventeenth. Harry refused to believe that all that work could be tossed out for no apparent reason.

Something was wrong, and he needed to figure out what it was before he went and said something that'd get him killed.

"Oh, dear," Dan said. Laughing, the creature walked over and gently patted the hand clinging to his brother's shirt. "This one is going to be fun, I can sense it already. Come, _Muinthel_ , let us take him home. Father _must_ meet this one."

 _..._ Laughter? ( _And there's that rage again, what the fuck_ )

Infuriated beyond belief, Harry made to swing a fist, but his hand was caught firmly within seconds, even as a lithe body jumped behind him and wrapped a hand around his waist. Harry flipped his head to gape behind him at Dan, who gave him a cheerful smile and grabbed the reins.

Roh let go of the fist that he'd caught with apparently no effort, and followed his brother in jumping onto his own horse.

"Indeed," Roh commented with another raised eyebrow. "I do wonder what Father will make of this."

* * *

Harry wasted a good hour trying to break the hold around his waist. It was like trying to cut steel with a plastic butter knife.

All the while, the brothers kept the horses riding at an unpleasant gallop, somehow managing to keep up a pleasant conversation in their lyrical language at the same time.

It was infuriating, and made Harry try to escape all the harder.

Eventually, however, the frightful speed of the horses and the general futility of his actions got to Harry, and panting, he let himself collapse against the firm chest behind him.

"All tired out now, little Istari?" Dan asked kindly. "I should hope so. You fought quite hard there for a bit! I was quite afraid you would toss yourself off the horse."

 _Liar._

"Liar," Harry griped, "you didn't budge one bit. What're you made of, freaking iron or something?"

A musical laugh split the air.

Harry waited for that uncharacteristic rage to well up again, and was a bit surprised, if grateful, when it didn't. One less thing to worry about. He allowed himself to relax, letting the sound wash over him peacefully.

Relaxing reminded him of the questions bouncing about in his head. He was quite curious, about a lot of things: what these two were doing so far out from their home in the woods; what an Istari was; who this 'father' was that they were apparently taking him to; and most importantly, whether he should be afraid for his life.

Strangely, the last part didn't actually concern him much. While not the best judge of character, Harry's instincts had been honed very sharply over the years. If his body and his magic thought these creatures to be a threat, they wouldn't have been able to come within five feet of him. If anything, the fact that they _still_ had his wand but his magic hadn't freaked out and tried to kill them yet said a lot.

Oh, Mad-eye would read him the riot-act when he got back, that was for sure; but to be honest, Harry really couldn't be bothered. Staying tense and wary took up a lot of energy, which this small body didn't have a lot of. And now that he'd worked off all his anger, he was starting to forget why he needed to be wary in the first place.

So Harry pushed those concerns aside, and concentrated on other things.

"Is it... I mean, what's an Istari, anyway?" he asked. They'd called him that after seeing his magic, so could it be...?

"An Istari, young one, is a wielder of magic, known as a 'wizard' in the common tongue. I am unaware of what magicks you are capable of, but a wizard of your age and color are unknown to us; forgive us if we came off as hostile. In this age, it is best to be cautious," Dan said apologetically. "I personally do not think you to be evil, or mean us ill. It is, however, our duty to ensure the safety of this land, and it behooves us to bring you in for interrogation. Worry not: our Father is fair, and will judge you accordingly."

Harry couldn't help a shudder at the word 'interrogation'. That sounded... a bit not good.

"Are you cold?" Dan asked. "You may use my cloak, if you wish."

"Ah, no, I'm fine thanks," Harry said, waving off the concern. Asking about their 'father' could wait, actually; he suddenly didn't feel in the mood to know at all.

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Instead, he said: "Um, so, I have to ask – how exactly can you lot be so far out of the woods? I mean, from what I've learned (correct me if I'm wrong), dryads-ah, tree nymphs-can't be separated from their _home-trees_ for more than an hour at most, and even then there's a limit to how far they can go?"

Harry got no reply. Confused, he looked behind him to see Dan looking completely nonplussed.

"Um...?" Harry began, only to jerk back as Dan abruptly pulled tight on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. He could see Roh doing the same beside him, and in the next second, both brothers were laughing.

Hysterically laughing.

It was rather infectious, and Harry felt his own lips twitch into a smile. He had no idea what they were going on about, but he figured an explanation could wait. It was definitely interesting to see these two stately, otherworldly creatures folded in on themselves with laughter.

"Oh little Istari, you are a wonder," Roh said between bursts of laughter.

"Er, thanks?" Harry said. As he watched, Roh slid off his horse to collapse on the ground, actually rolling around as he laughed and laughed.

"Not that this isn't great or anything," Harry interrupted, "but could someone explain the joke?"

"Child, we are not _tree nymphs_ ," Dan gasped in answer. "We are _most assuredly not tree nymphs_."

"Oh," Harry said, still confused. _Not dryads?_ "What are you, then?"

"We are _elves_ , child, _elves_ ," Roh exclaimed. "My brother and I are of the elves of Imladris, the Last Homely House. I am not entirely certain what a tree nymph is, but whatever they happen to be, we are most assuredly _not that_."

Oookay. Elves. Right.

Harry's mind supplied him the image of a house-elf, which he quickly brushed aside. No, that was completely wrong. Whatever they meant by _elves,_ it must mean something very different to them.

This changed things a bit. If they weren't dryads and were closer to something human, then maybe Harry was actually justified in feeling they didn't mean him harm.

 _One last question._ "So just to be on the safe side, I have to ask: you're not asexual, then? Are you like, I dunno, actually male – or female – with the right... bits, and stuff? 'cause nymphs don't have any, and no offense, but I've kinda been calling you guys 'he' in my head…" he trailed off lamely.

Both of the 'elves' looked absolutely horrified, which told Harry everything he needed to know.

"Right then," he said weakly. "Not asexual, got it. Male, then?"

"Oh yes," Roh said faintly, "very male, my little Istari."

"Okay, great, glad we cleared that up," Harry said quickly, and tried a bright smile. "So, is this a good time to ask for my wand back?"

"No, it is most definitely not," came the reply.

"Right," Harry sulked. He turned back to face the front of the horse, and said, "Well, I'd at least like some water, if my wand's not an option. I'm right parched."

A lyrical chuckle, then a water skin was handed to him. Harry, after a curious look at it, drowned as much water as he could stomach.

 _Much better,_ Harry thought, feeling his mood rise exponentially. Even the thought of the awful ride ahead did little to dampen his sudden good feelings.

(The way his feelings were flipping back and forth so rapidly was a bit concerning, so Harry added another mental note and tucked it away for further contemplation)

"Shall we go then?" he asked cheerfully, passing the water skin to Dan's out-stretched hand. "I'd rather get this over with, if you don't mind."

"Indeed, let us do so," Roh said. He flipped to his feet in one smooth motion that left Harry feeling very envious, and soon they were on their way again.

 _Elves_ , Harry thought as they took off. _Kreacher, where in the world did you send me?_

* * *

 **A/N:** are you wondering about the weird nicknames? I am too, surprise. I totally stole them from some fic somewhere, and when I remember whose fic it was, I will credit them properly. Don't worry, Harry will eventually remember to introduce himself and get their proper names.

 _ **Translations:** _

_Muinthel -_ Sindarin: (dear) brother.

 _Suldal_ \- Sindarin: Wind Foot

I'm about 95% sure that's accurate.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I just had someone's hand in my mouth for twenty-minutes, and I am now in so much pain. (Three guess as to why that is, and the first three don't count)  
The painkillers are also doing nothing, I have a lisp and basically life just sucks, so if I missed any significant errors, let me know and I'll go back and fix it when I'm in less pain.

Thanks to all of my reviewers. I really appreciate you taking the time to read this strange bundle of words masquerading as a proper fic. You guys are the sweetest!

 **Disclaimer:** I own my nothing but a load of clean laundry.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

They rode on. It was about midday by then, from what he could tell, and the sun was shinning obnoxiously bright in the sky. This did nothing to help Harry's general discomfort.

Harry frowned when his stomach gave an angry gurgle. Yes, he really was quite starving. The water had helped for a while, but it was getting to the point where he could no longer ignore the hunger pains. Well-accustomed to not getting enough to eat, Harry could go a long time without; perhaps because of this very fact, Harry did his utmost to eat as much as he could, whenever he could.

Thus, despite being the unfortunate victim of a kidnapping, Harry saw no issue with demanding food of his captors.

After all, they wanted to keep him alive, didn't they?

Harry turned his head to look up at the dark-haired elf behind him and demanded: "Feed me!"

It came out a bit squeaky, but Harry was getting used to his new - or old, really - voice, so he ignored it.

Dan looked down at him, amused. "Art thou a horse, little Istari? Should that not be the case, I do believe there are much better ways to request sustenance."

Harry rolled his eyes and intoned sarcastically: "I beg of your heartfelt nature, that you might provide me with the means to continue on living."

"Yes, that is much better," Dan said with exaggerated solemnity. He dug in his saddle bag with one hand, and soon produced a flat, plain looking bread, of sorts.

He handed it to Harry, who gave it a skeptical look, but was too hungry to care for long. It turned out to be delicious: light, fluffy and mildly sweet. It was very refreshing, and he ate it with relish. He was surprised to find himself full upon finishing, though the portion had been small.

"What's this stuff, then?" he asked the elf.

"It is called Lembas. It is a type of wafer made for the purpose of traveling. A small portion provides the same nutrients as a well-balanced meal. It is also light, and stays fresh for long periods of time."

"Hmmmm." Very nice. Harry would have killed to have this stuff at a lot of different periods in his life.

Hunger sated, he leaned back contentedly and took a moment to consider his situation.

So far, the elves hadn't hurt him (other than that little moment of sexual harassment, which Harry wasn't gonna think about); they'd provided him with food and water, and even showed concern for his well-being. Harry was embarrassed to realize that his kidnappers had in fact shown him more consideration than a majority of the people in his life who called themselves his guardians and teachers.

They were also kind of nice, in general; they were sort of growing on him, like a peculiarly attractive fungus.

So. Options.

Harry sighed, and carefully avoided looking at the ground. This horse was very tall, and the less he thought about being on it, the better.

Option one: he could try a little more seriously to escape.

If he tried to summon his wand now, he knew he would succeed; due to his strong connection with the wand, he could get a general feel of its location, and right now it pointed to somewhere in the vicinity of Roh's saddle bags.

Once he had his wand, it would be simple work disarming and stunning both elves, and then he would be on his way.

 _But then what?_ Harry thought, his stomach lurching uncomfortably as the horse made its way around a shallow dip in the road.

'Then what' indeed.

Short of killing the elves, there was no way to stop them permanently; once the spell wore off, they would come chasing after him on their very fast horses (as there was no way in hell Harry was going to steal one of those awful beasts). Harry also knew nothing about elves; for all he knew, they might have some sort of power to track his life force, or follow his scent, or any other method of tracking down one lonely little kid in this tree-ridden wilderness.

Even if he did escape, _really_ escape, what then? Would he wander about, tired and alone, in the hopes that he would run into someone else, someone hopefully just as friendly but less likely to kidnap him?

 _What fun,_ Harry thought sourly. _So that option's out_.

Option two: Harry stuck with these two, and let what would happen, happen.

Harry sighed, more loudly this time, and was startled to feel a hand rest on his head. Before he could ask why, he heard Dan say: "What a sorrowful sound, little one. Is it such a terrible thing, being captured by such awful, evil elves?"

Harry automatically answered yes, but he knew Dan could hear the lie in his words. He hadn't been serious, really, not since the start. It was like everything had hit him all at once, but now that he'd gotten a good freak out out of his system, all his worries had taken a backseat.

 _I should probably be worried about that, too. Why'm I not, again?_

* * *

 _"_ I'm not 'child', by the way," Harry told them later, as they were taking a break to stretch their legs. Harry's legs, in particular, definitely appreciated this.

Dan, who was riffling around in his saddle bag, turned to give him a quizzical look.

"I mean I have a name, and you can use it if you want," he clarified. He'd had time to think this through during the long hours of riding (which were a few terrifying hours of his life he was never getting back; also, after this he was never getting on a horse _ever again_ if he could help it). So far, he'd been lucky; they hadn't asked his name, or shown any sign they recognized him. Without his scar that wasn't too difficult, sure, but the entire Magical Society knew of him by now; he could be in a mountain village in Nepal and they would probably know who he was.

Letting them know his name had its hazards. There were still plenty of dark wizards out there who had it in for him, and even his loyal fans were dangerous in their own right.

But at the moment, Harry had nothing else up his sleeve. They had taken his wand (and he wasn't desperate enough to steal it back), he had no resources, and no means of even determining where he was. He wasn't even sure what an elf _was_ , never mind if all of elves were as friendly-like as these two.

Harry hated the thought of using his fame in any way, but if using his name could get him out of this mess in one piece, he would swallow his pride and use it.

Harry braced himself, and said: "I'm Harry Potter. You can, well, call me Harry if you like." And waited.

"Har...ri?" Roh said after a moment, rolling the name oddly. "An interesting name for an interesting Istari. Well-met, young Wizard Harri! I am Elrohir Elrondian, and this is my twin brother, Elladan; may the starsshine upon our meeting."

 _Um_.

"You... don't recognize me?" Harry asked cautiously, mentally reconfiguring his captors' names in his head. "Why don't you recognize me?"

'Elladan' handed a water skin to his brother _('Elrohir')_ , and gave Harry a quizzical look. "Should we, little Istari? Have we met at a previous time, then? I do not believe so, for I am certain I would have remembered."

"That's – uh, no, I suppose not," Harry said, stunned. That was... weird. Very weird.

Elrohir passed Harry the water skin when he had had his fill, and Harry accepted it automatically, mind awhirl.

They... didn't know who he was. They didn't know who he was, even though they were elves and apparently knew what magic was.

Harry... was starting to get a very, _very_ bad feeling.

"We must find a decent place to camp before night falls," Elrohir announced, pulling him from his thoughts. His long robes swished as he walked towards the horses. He whispered something to the dark mare, _Sulal_ , that Harry had the misfortune of being well acquainted with by now, and stroked her long mane.

"Let us rest a bit longer, and then be on our way."

"Ai," Elladan agreed. He plopped himself on to his back next to Harry and crossed his legs. He then looked up, and grinned.

"Since we appear to have a bit more time, perhaps you can tell us again about these tree nymphs - these _dryads_. I would very much like to hear the details, as I do believe I know someone who would be _very interested_ in hearing about them."

Sensing a mischief in the elf that reminded him of two red-haired twins, Harry felt an answering grin stretch across his face. He pushed the 'bad feeling' into the rapidly filler corner in the back of his mind and let himself get pulled into talking.

What would come would come. He'd come this far not really giving a shit; why start now?

* * *

It was getting dark by the time they came to another stop.

For the entirety of their journey, the landscape had been a boring repeat of long stretch of road, trees, more trees, and more road. The novelty of so much nature had long since worn off, so Harry had let himself fall into a light doze. He'd just meant to have a light kip to conserve energy, but before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

He woke up when the movement ceased.

"Hurm? Was-was going on?" Harry mumbled sleepily, blinking at the – _big surprise_ – surrounding trees.

"We will be camping for the night, little Istari," Elladan said. Harry felt him move down and off the horse. He only then realized that he must have been using the elf as a cushion the entire ride, and took a moment to consider being embarrassed about it. In the end, he figured that if the elf hadn't said anything, it was probably fine, and shrugged it off.

Yawning, he got off the horse himself (much less gracefully). The ground beneath his feet was a wonderful feeling, and he stretched, reveling in his new freedom. His thighs and other soft bits were killing him; Merlin knew how people could stand riding the damn things.

Harry glared at the horse for good measure. She snorted and snuffled at his pockets in return.

"Oh no you don't, go away!" Harry exclaimed, shooing with his hands. Not to be deterred, the mare shoved her nose around Harry's hands and pockets, whinnying when her search provided nothing.

Harry heard laughter, and turned behind him to see Elrohir watching, a pile of branches in his arms.

"She is searching for treats. _Valar_ knows my brother spoils her over-much."

"I do no such thing!" Elladan declared, even as he abandoned a bundle of bedding to pull a piece of chopped carrot from his pocket.

The horse's ears perked up, and she moved from exploring Harry's person to stretching her nose excitedly in Elladan's direction.

Rolling his eyes, Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered over to where Elrohir was placing rocks in a circle.

He crouched down and watched silently for a moment. When the circle looked to be about complete, Harry scratched at the back of his head and asked awkwardly: "Uh, you need help with anything, mate?"

Elrohir glanced up at him. Harry found it simply marvelous, and equally ridiculous, that both of the elves looked absolutely impeccable. Very aware of his own bird's nest hair and dirty clothes, he really couldn't comprehend how they managed to stay so clean and, well, gorgeous.

 _Maybe it's an elf thing_ , he thought, unable to stop a twinge of envy.

"Thank you for offering, little one. On top of the saddle sits my bedroll, which you shall be using tonight. If you would be so kind as to get it for me," Elrohir offered kindly.

Feeling like he was being patronized but with a restless need to use his own two feet as much as possible, Harry scrambled to his feet and went to get the bedroll.

While trying to get the bedroll and avoid the inquisitive eyes of the Elrohir's large beast, Harry took the chance to subtly observe the elves.

From where he stood with a good view of their camp, both elves were practically impossible to tell a part. Much like Fred and George, everything from their clothing down to their (incredibly effeminate) braids were identical. Harry had always privately wondered at that.

While his twins had always gotten a good laugh out of tricking people by changing their names and whatnot, Harry wondered at their lack of desire for individuality. If it were him, he figured, he would be frustrated and hurt that not even his own mother could tell them a part.

Harry observed them some more, and after a moment was able to spot and remember a few marked differences.

He'd already observed Elladan's readiness to smile in contrast to his rather somber brother. He wasn't sure which was the older one, but if he had to guess, he would say Elrohir. There was a carefreeness to Elladan that smacked of the younger sibling.

Elladan also had a habit of rubbing his thumb and forefinger; he'd noticed the tell during the long ride. Harry couldn't tell what it meant just yet, but he was determined to find out.

And their choice of weapons, of course. While they both carried both a light, small-ish sword and bow, Elladan had grabbed his bow while Elrohir had gone for his sword.

It wasn't much, but Harry imagined that most people couldn't tell them apart anyway, and a small advantage was better than none.

"I had thought you wished to help, little one!" one of the elves called out, jolting Harry from his thoughts. He quickly grabbed the bedroll and replied: "Gimme a minute, geez! And it's 'Harry' for crying out loud!l

Both elves eyed him with amusement as he stalked over and dropped the bedroll with huff. Even up this close, it was difficult to pin down which twin was which.

Elrohir - yes, it was Elrohir - put down the flint he'd been using to light the fire, and said, "You do have a very intriguing way of speaking, young Harry. I am curious to know from whence you came that such language is common place. I also would like to know what led you to this place, alone and without companions or belongings of any kind. I do not mean to press you for answers," he hastened to add, at Harry's sudden tension, "Our Father will ask you such questions in due time. I merely ask out of curiosity."

Harry eyed them both carefully. He really, really didn't want to get into the whole mess with Kreacher, never mind that he still hadn't established how they both seemed to recognize magic, but not who he was.

For that matter, there were so many things odd about this whole situation, that he was... That he was...

Yes, all right, he was afraid; he somehow got the feeling that the truth was a terrible, frightening thing, to be avoided at all costs.

After a long moment of consideration (during which the elves waited silently, which he appreciated), Harry decided on a slightly watered-down version of the truth.

"Well I'm English, obviously, and we're all kinda like this, yeah," he said, sweeping a vague hand down to indicate himself, not expecting this part to need further explanation. It was the next part that would be a bit...tricky.

He saw Elrohir open his mouth, but the elf closed it as Harry continued:

"So there I was, just going about my business, when my el – ah, servant comes along and starts reading from this book, right, which was magic I think, and then everything went kind of 'kaboomy' and then I passed out. Then I woke up here."

"...Ah. Is that so."

Harry shrugged sheepishly. So it was a shit explanation; he honestly couldn't do much better than that. Going on about how Kreacher was absolutely batty and a piece of absolute rubbish would mean nothing to them, never mind his unfortunate history with dark wizards, which – would actually explain a lot about how Kreacher managed the difficult feat of transporting him somewhere extremely strange and probably far off with his limited house-elf magic.

Ah. Something to consider.

Harry smiled winsomely at his two otherworldly-companions and concluded: "But I've got friends looking for me, and it's not like I can't take care of myself, so there's really nothing to worry about. Really," he emphasized when his answer garnered two skeptical looks.

Really, everything was fine. He would fumble through this mess somehow, try to enjoy it and make the most of it, then get the fuck out of dodge.

And that creeping feeling of a hand clutching tighter and tighter around his insides? Simply an unfortunate side-effect of drinking too much.

"Well," Elrohir said, after a polite but strongly disbelieving pause. "Well, then. As I said, I asked merely out of curiosity. You will have plenty of time before we reach our destination to think of a more... coherent explanation."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, whatever you say."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This is as far as I've gotten writing wise. I've regained a bit of inspiration since going over this and posting, but updates will be sporadic at best, with long waits in-between. I dearly appreciate all your reviews, and they have definitely helped bump my muse into gear. If anyone has any helpful opinions or constructive criticism, please don't hold back! I never meant to get serious about this fic, but it happened anyway, and I would love to hear what you would all like to see, and will do my best to fit it in as the plot allows. I think I have a plot... kind of. An idea of one. I'm also thinking of shifting the time-line to the Quest era, though I don't forsee Harry becoming a tenth-walker. Thoughts?

I'm playing around a bit with writing styles, so if that's jarring, sorry in advance! This is the first time I've posted anything in like five years, so it's not gonna be perfect!

 **Warning:** This chapter deals with depression, and hints at dissociation. If that bothers anyone, I'm sorry; I was kind of in a dark place when I wrote this, and I didn't even realize how dreary the whole thing was till I read it over again. Things will get lighter, don't worry, and Harry will continue to be a careless asshole soon enough.

And I probably should have said this earlier, but I anticipate no slash/romance in this story whatsoever. Harry's gonna be a little shitty, emotionally constipated brat, and while the emotionally constipated part may change with the right help, he's still gonna be a shitty brat. Who's like, 12, but 17 on the inside. So all relationships will be platonic, but read into whatever you like, I won't be offended.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but this weird humidifier that is brand new but still doesn't work, God knows why.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

It had been awhile since he'd slept in the outdoors, and even then they'd had a tent. Harry rolled his shoulder, ruefully marveling at his companions' apparent lack of discomfort.

The most interesting part about the whole sleeping-out-of-doors business had been the sleeping with people part. Harry was used to nightmares; he'd been having them off and on since - well, the first time someone had tried to kill him. When he was _eleven._

Harry was used to nightmares.

 _(-the Veil was calling, beckoning him in the voice of the man he'd loved, who'd represented hope and freedom and_ home _and all the things he'd always wanted but never been able, never been_ allowed _,_ _to have, and he wanted, how he_ wanted, _and a sickening voice was intoning,_ Kill the spare _, and he was fighting and clawing at his restraints but he couldn't fight, couldn't move, and Ginny was lying cold and still and dead on the ground, and_ that voice _was speaking again, and someone was screaming, mother, father, and the green light overwhelmed his vision, and he was helpless and frozen_ _and he couldn't_ move _-)_

What he wasn't so used to (anymore) was having people around for those nightmares.

Without the use of his wand to cast a silencing spell, Harry had had the dubious pleasure of a long night spent being shaken awake, having to mumble out his 'I'm fine, I'm fines' while half asleep, sleeping again, getting woken up again, and rinse and repeat. The elves had been very kind about it, but waking up to bothersome (if careful) questions about his dreams and a lot of suffocating attention? He... hadn't enjoyed that (he hadn't). That he could have done without.

He'd probably managed to catch a good four hours, all told, but he still somehow felt that he hadn't rested at all.

It didn't help that they'd cleaned up camp at horrible-o'clock, much to Harry's consternation, and he'd been shuffled onto a horse after a quick breakfast, still yawning and barely awake.

They'd set off quickly after that, and Harry had been forced to try to mentally readjust and compartmentalize while being jostled on a horse. If the fine tremors in his hands were any indication, he hadn't entirely succeeded.

Stretching as best he could while on a moving animal, Harry yawned off the last of his residual sleepiness and nightmare-induced terror, and resigned himself to another repetitive day.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case for long; within a few hours of riding, the terrain began to slowly change. They'd passed through the forest off and on during their journey, but grass was now giving way to dirt and stone, trees to rocky outcroppings, and the smooth dirt path to a winding, steep slope. Harry guessed they were heading up the mountain, and was proven correct when the road went higher, narrowing even further. He was fine initially, but once they reached a height where the slightest misstep could lead to long, long fall…

The top of the Astronomy tower? Fine. He could control how close he got to the edge, and most importantly, there were _walls_. Top of the Quiddich stands? Also fine. There were enough people surrounding him to cushion the impact if the stands were to, say, crumble from a well-shot _Bombarda_ (was he paranoid? Please). His broom? Not even a question. His broom was like an extension of his body; he knew, without a second of doubt, that the moment he sat on his broom, he had perfect control of every inch of it.

Now a horse - a tall, tall horse - which he was not controlling, on a winding mountain path...?

Harry spent a good few hours sitting rigidly straight while steadily sweating out everything he'd drunk in the past couple of days, and had to fight off increasingly amused (and concerned) questions about his welfare.

Bloody mountains. Merlin-be-damned _horses_.

Their path grew even more treacherous with every hour that passed. The winding path took them over and down rocky terrain, at times on thin ledges so narrow and with such steep drops Harry had to close his eyes to keep from fainting and/or throwing up. After hours of tense, panic-induced nausea, Harry finally managed to enter something like a forced state of calm, or numbess.

 _(-it was like a fog settling over his mind, blanking out the terror, softening the sharp edges, the sight of a crumbling foot-bridge over a fifty-foot drop no more than slightly unnerving, and he couldn't seem to feel much, but that was fine, he'd already felt so much his entire life, it couldn't hurt to feel a little less-)_

The feeling was odd but welcome, and Harry couldn't be bothered to do much of anything at the moment, anyway. He finally felt able to stop clenching so hard on the saddle, and it was close enough to what little he'd managed to retain from his disastrous Occlumency lessons that he wasn't worried. Maybe the stress had brought his secret talent to the fore?

The next forty minutes or so of heart-stopping terror were pleasantly numbed, and Harry was able to look around at the admittedly spectacular view, even if his eerie calm kept him from feeling too much enjoyment. It was a definite improvement over the past few hours, and Harry was able to thoughtfully consider where his new fear of heights could have originated whilst staring at herd of deer down far, far below them.

"Once we reach the Ford of _Bruinen_ , Harri, you will be able to catch a first glimpse of our home. We have a good half-day left of riding till then, but I assure you, it is well worth the wait," the voice of Elrohir, his current companion for the day, broke through the fog awhile later.

Harry startled into awareness, and hmm'd noncommittally. As exciting as it would be to finally get off this bleeding horse and off the freaking mountain, it was hard to be too enthused. The reminder of how close they were to their destination brought back a lot of the thoughts and worries he'd been putting off; they demanded to be acknowledged before they arrived at their destination, before time ran out and he lost his chance.

Elrohir started explaining the history of the surrounding mountains and their relation to the history of 'Imladris', their home and apparently a sanctuary of some sort, and he nodded in all the right places (even as he shifted carefully in the saddle and to the left of the _gigantic canyon_ running along their path). It was interesting and definitely important information, and he tried to pay Elrohir the attention the elf deserved; but as time passed, Harry gradually felt his awareness fade again as he drifted into his thoughts.

He'd put off thinking about unpleasant things for as long as he could, but it seemed like he no longer had that luxury.

He put his thoughts into order, and started with the most pressing issue: interrogation.

What did their definition of 'interrogation' entail, exactly? Sure these two had reacted relatively well considering his total lack of a proper explanation for his presence, but this 'father' of theirs was an unknown entity. Interrogation could mean a lot of things, some of which Harry had experienced first hand and definitely never wanted to experience again. That was a legitimate worry, and Harry marked that down as the first thing to subtly question his captors about.

And if they knew what magic was but had no idea what the _Ministry_ of Magic was and he went and told them, would that be considered breaking the Statute of Secrecy? Considering their reactions to his presence so far, they likely only had the barest of experience with magic users, and at a guess, those wizards were primitive and lacking any sort of Ministry or Government _(_ seriously, where on earth was this place?) _._ He wasn't in the mood to break the law, but could he argue extenuating circumstances? He had a bit more leeway before he had to come to a decision about that, so he moved on to the next.

Should he be upfront about his role in Voldemort's mur- _execution_? For all they didn't seem aware of the details of the War, surely they'd heard _something_ \- enough, at least, to recognize that he was their ally. And he needed them to recognize him as an ally. He didn't want to relive any of those memories over again if he could help it, but surely it would help him believe that he was firmly on the side of the Light, and that he no intention of hurting them.

Which reminded Harry: the _age thing_.

Some of Harry's calm faded at the thought, leaving him in another cold sweat as they passed frightfully close to the edge of the path.

 _The age thing_. Really, what should he do? For all that he hadn't cared too much about the changes to his body initially, Harry was definitely seeing the downsides to this body now. Could he even prove his true age if there was nothing to compare his knowledge to? He could show off every one of his high-powered spells, but all that would prove was his intelligence; they might even label him a prodigy, which on top of being untrue would be terribly annoying. And he didn't know enough of these 'Istari' the elves spoke of. Maybe they all looked as young as he did and were just as powerful - or were they old, decrepit sages barely hanging on to their existence? There was no way of knowing, and the last thing Harry needed was to be labeled a liar, or worse, crazy.  
Was he willing to go to the opposite extreme, then, to lie and pass himself off as an only slightly-above-average eleven or twelve-year-old? How long would he be able to stand being condescended to and treated like the child he really wasn't? Was it worth the possible benefits of being thought of as harmless?

In the end, all that would be a moot point if they decided he was a spy (no matter what the brothers said), and that was a frightening possibility - a possible future he couldn't hope to predict with his lack of knowledge of these _elves_ and their rules and customs.

And if help didn't come quick enough...

If help... didn't come...

"…think so, Harri?"

Still caught up in his thoughts, Harry automatically agreed, "Yeah, makes sense."

He felt the body at his back sigh, which was all the warning he got before fingers mercilessly attacked his ribs. Shrieking in surprise, his previous calm flew out the window as Harry flailed and struggled for balance for a heart-stopping moment. When he finally managed to get a death grip on what he could reach (in this case, The horse's mane, which the mare did not appreciate), he turned his head and shouted furiously: "The bloody hell was that for? You trying to kill me or something?"

Unmoved, Elrohir said, "I asked you, little Istari, where your opinion stood on the matter of purple, flying goats laying their eggs in the shadows of the Misty Mountains."

Harry felt his cheeks warm. "Um. Oh."

"'Oh' indeed," Elrohir agreed. "If my telling of the history of Imladris is so very uninteresting to you, I would prefer that you tell me so, as opposed to letting me continue to speak when you have long since ceased paying attention."

The look the elf gave him was somehow both amused and disapproving at the same time. Feeling himself flush even further, Harry dropped his eyes and turned, hunching his shoulders as he mumbled a vague apology.

That was stupid of him. If Mad-eye were here, he'd be running laps to the sound of a horrendous lecture on the many terrible deaths aurors had met on account of inattention. He knew better. He really, _really_ knew better.

He'd had a lot of these 'little slips' since coming to this place, and while individually they were nothing too concerning, when put together…

Harry shuddered and bravely removed one hand from its tight hold so he could massage a blossoming headache. Something was really, really off. It had something to do with this new body, or this place, or _something_ in the spell, ritual, _whatever_ that had brought him here, and he really needed to find out what that was before he did something really, really stupid, with lasting consequences.

Just another freaking thing to figure out on top of everything else. _What a headache,_ Harry thought, even as he rubbed harder at his actual headache.

He heard more than felt the sigh this time, and a hand gently patted his head.

(He wanted to be annoyed, but in the past day and a half of travel he'd gotten used to these elves and their casual attitude towards physical contact. Apparently it wasn't weird at all to pat your potential enemy on the head, or give them side-ways hugs, or pick them up like they're a sack of potatoes. While he was still having trouble fighting the urge to flinch away from every innocent touch, he was getting better at hiding his surprise and discomfort. He mentally marked the whole thing down as another peculiarity of the elves, and tucked his feelings on the matter away)

With a hand still on his head, Elrohir said: "I am aware that as your captors we are hard to trust, little one. Therefore, although we have already spoken of this once before, I will say it again, as many times as you require: No harm shall befall you while you are in our care. No matter your history or your purpose, our Father is fair and merciful and kind, and will judge you accordingly. You have not attacked us, though you have had plenty of opportunity; you have cooperated, after a fashion-" this was said teasingly, and Harry felt himself smile slightly against his will, "-and nothing you have said or done has lead either of us to be wary of you. This has earned you our favor, and I urge you to take that to heart, and cease this heavy contemplation that leads you to hunch in on yourself so, as if you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The warm concern thick in Elrohir's voice had a confusing effect on Harry: he could feel a lump building in his throat, and a weird sort of tightness in his eyes.

 _This stupid body,_ Harry thought, feeling a flash of sudden anger, which thankfully cleared away the strange symptoms. He ducked his head to remove the elf's hand.

This stupid _everything_. He was so tired of this.

All he'd wanted was a nice drink to celebrate a birthday everyone remembered but didn't actually care about. All he'd wanted was a bit of break from the monotony, the day-to-day drudgery of going to work, signing mind-numbing piles of documents, dodging fans, and going home to his one-room apartment with its singular, dying plant and second-hand furniture.

All he'd wanted was a break, a _rest_. But _this_?

Harry stared down at his tiny hands, at the saddle he could barely stand to sit in, at the horse he'd never wanted to ride.

(- _the calm was shifting_ _into something like numbness, only different, stronger, deeper,_ _overwhelming, an inexplicable feeling like moving through water, every movement ten times harder, hard to shift his hands, lift his head, and a strange feeling of disconnect, like this body was not his own, which it wasn't, it wasn't his own, was it, not now, not then, hadn't been for years-_ )

All he'd ever wanted was a break. It seemed like almost every time he managed to be happy, something would happen to fuck it all up, and him too, by extension. Every time he managed to bottle it up and move on like the hero they all expected and needed, something else would come along and the whole process would begin all over again.

 _(-he was disconnected, but the heavy thoughts were piling over each other like a pack of rabid dogs, screaming out of the corner he'd hid them in, trying to get out, trying to overwhelm him again with the memories, the emotions, the dark things, the things he hated and had no need of, the things he'd cut out just to stay sane and alive-)_

He was tired of being fucked over, tired of being manipulated, tired of drowning under the crushing expectations he was always fighting (and almost always failing) to meet. Luck could only take you so far, and… and he was just _so. Tired._

They had stopped moving, Harry noticed suddenly. He looked up, and saw Elladan getting down from his horse in front of them. There were hands at his waist a second later, and he found himself hoisted onto the ground before he do more than recall that he'd never answered Elrohir back.

"We have enough daylight left to reach the _Bruinen_ by nightfall. Let us rest, as we have no pressing need to hurry," Elladan said.

Then the touch of a hand on his shoulder, and he was being guided to a low outcropping of rock before he could think to protest.

"Sit," Elrohir said firmly. "Rest."

He sat. The world was a murky and cold, blank and strangely empty, and he barely cared about the water he was urged to drink, or the dried meat and berries pressed into his hand. He couldn't feel the concern from his captors as they watched him stare blankly at the food, barely swallow the water, and sit in a silent daze.

All he could feel was the weight of a thousand dark thoughts bearing down on his shoulders, the little strength he had left to hold himself up slipping through his fingers like sand.

* * *

This time, when they started moving again, they kept an even, comfortable pace that Harry wasn't aware enough to notice, never mind appreciate.

They'd switched again, Elladan as his new companion to keep from over-tiring the horses. Elrohir took the lead, and for a while Harry watched, heavy and numb, as the sun slowly slipped behind the mountains, leaving the sky a gentle orange with swirls of pink and magenta.

Hours might have passed, maybe minutes, seconds, but Harry didn't care, and couldn't even remember how to, or why he might need to. The world was slow and empty and cold, and it was all he could do to remember to keep breathing.

(At some points he couldn't even remember why that last might be important at all)

But then: a hand on his back, sending tendrils of heat down his spine; at the junction between neck and shoulder, a thumb rubbing light circles of warmth into his skin; a hand lightly gripped his cold fingers, carefully stopping the minute trembling that had re-emerged without Harry's notice; and fingers, running playfully through his wild hair, untangling knots so gently he couldn't even feel the tugging.

He relaxed so slowly and gradually that he didn't even notice, until sensation and coherent thought returned, bringing with them the unpleasant bite of the rapidly cooling air, a sharp clarity of thought and a renewed awareness of his surroundings. The weight on his shoulders hadn't faded, but it felt lighter somehow, easier to bear, easier to carry for another day.

Harry realized that the sound he'd been dully ignoring was singing. He couldn't understand it, as it was in the language the two elves spoke amongst themselves, but it was beautiful and peaceful all the same. With that realization, Harry became truly aware of how much he'd separated himself from his surroundings, and what the elves had been slowly and kindly doing to bring him back.

It was a humiliatingly foolish thing to have done, so closely on the heels of his last loss of attention, but all Harry could feel was gratitude for these two brothers - these two wonderful, beautiful creatures - who had done what to them may have been a simple, thoughtless act, but for him meant more than he could ever put to words.

Feeling unaccountably shy, Harry reached carefully for the hand holding the reins and squeezed, trying his best to let the action speak for the words he couldn't say. The hand playing with his hair gave a soft, soothing stroke, and Harry let the unspoken acknowledgment settle the last of his unease.

They rode on in the approaching twilight, the sounds of singing gently carrying in the air.


End file.
